"You're a guest of Uncle Sam. But that doesn't mean I can spend Uncle Sam's money taking you anywhere you want to go." Davis frowned in thought. "But I could turn you loose in Galena instead of taking you all the way over to Ioway. That wouldn't make any difference, monetarily. Not that I'm ready to go along with this, but could you manage to make it to Victor from there?"
"I'll write to my grandfather and ask him to send a horse to Galena for me."
"If your grandfather has any sense he'll tell you to get the hell across the Mississippi to the Sauk reservation."
"My grandfather has a power of sense. But he also loves me and will want to see me again."
"If you show your face in Victor you'll be swinging from a tree limb before the sun sets."
"Not if I can take Raoul by surprise."
Davis shook his head. "This is wrong. I'm letting you go to your death."
Frightened, seeing his plan through Davis's eyes, Auguste wastempted to change his mind. Yes, go back to Ioway, live safely in the warm heart of the tribe. Why face a mob of rifle-toting bullies led by Raoul? It was hopeless. He would surely die.
But he saw again those rolling acres, the great house rebuilt, the wealth and what he could do with it. If he turned his back on that, he would stunt the rest of his life with regret and longing.
He said, "It's not suicide. I'm risking my life, yes. But if I don't try to right the wrong that has been done to me, life will not be worth living."
Davis sighed. "A man has to stand up for what he believes in, even if it looks like a lost cause. I guess that's what you and Black Hawk and all your people have been doing all along."
Now that Auguste was committed, fear came back. He'd have to face Raoul's men, dozens of them, alone. Even the Bear spirit could not give him the strength and skill to do that.
There must be a way to meet Raoul alone. Ambush him? But that way, even if he succeeded in killing Raoul, the town and Raoul's friends would never accept him as master of Victoire.
The man he'd just met, Andrew Jackson, was well known as a duelist. In his years at Victoire Auguste had heard more than once of Raoul meeting men in single combat. Pierre and Elysée had spoken with disgust of Raoul's dozen or more killings.
A duel. That would be the way to do it. If he succeeded in killing Raoul in a duel, no one would try to stop him from retaking Victoire. With Raoul gone, his men would be leaderless.
Of course, Raoul had killed many men and Auguste had killed none. But the Bear spirit would fight on Auguste's side. And if he failed, he would rather die fighting for what was rightfully his than spend his life drinking the bitter water of defeat.
A few days before he left Fort Monroe, Auguste persuaded Davis to let him be allowed to walk on the parade ground at the same time as Owl Carver. A sadness came over him at the sight of the old shaman, a gray army blanket thrown over his shoulders despite the warmth of the day, walking with stiff steps across the grass. The heavy-lidded eyes did not light up with recognition until Auguste came close to him.
Then Owl Carver took both Auguste's hands in his, and Auguste noticed something he had never seen before. The sudden realization awed him.
His eyes look so much like those of the Turtle!
Wondering how Owl Carver would think of what he was doing, he told him, "I am going back to the pale eyes' town. Back to Star Arrow's home. I mean to try to take back the land from my uncle."
Owl Carver closed those ancient eyes. He spoke after a moment's hesitation, and when he did his voice frightened Auguste. It was the eerie singsong voice he used when he was prophesying for the tribe.
"When a man or woman suffers an injury too great for them to bear, an evil spirit is born in them, a spirit of hate. The evil spirit ruins whoever harbors it. The evil spirit occupies a man and drives him onward until he does things to others that make them hate in their turn, and thus the spirit continues. I think your uncle has been carrying such an evil spirit."
Auguste broke out in a cold sweat hearing the warning in Owl Carver's words. He remembered the hatred that rose in him whenever he thought of Raoul. Was the spirit of hatred kindled in Raoul at Fort Dearborn now passing to him?
"I pledged to my father, smoking the sacred tobacco, that I would hold the land he gave me," Auguste said, as much to hearten himself as to persuade Owl Carver. "Tobacco bound you and Black Hawk in honor to surrender when Eagle Feather smoked it. I must honor my promise."
But he still felt cold within, as Owl Carver, his eyes now clear-sighted and grave, gripped his wrist tightly. "Do not let your uncle's evil spirit cross over to you. See that it be your promise, and not greed, like the greed of the pale eyes, that takes you back to that land. And, above all, do not use your shaman's power to harm your enemy, or you will suffer for it."
"I will not," said Auguste, but he felt unsure of himself. After all the evil he had endured, how could heknowthat he would not unleash his greatest powers if that were the only way he could destroy Raoul?
The grip of the bony fingers on his wrist tightened. "Set your heart, White Bear, not upon getting back this land, but just upon walking your path."
The deep lines in Owl Carver's face were drawn downward with pain, and Auguste felt the crushing weight of grief as he realized they were both thinking the same thought—that they would never see each other again.
Following the dimly seen figures of Guichard and his horse, Auguste breathlessly climbed a narrow, steep pathway that switched back and forth up the steep, wooded hillside. He led his horse by the reins. Halfway up the hill they came to a flat place, an open clearing. Auguste smelled wood smoke. The windows of a cottage glowed yellow, promising safety.
While Auguste waited in the dark, Guichard stabled the horses, then knocked on the cottage door.
"We have arrived, monsieur," he called, and pushed the door inward.
Auguste blinked in the light of a dozen candles set on a circular chandelier. Across the room by the fireplace a book fell to the rug, a Kentucky quilt was swept back and a pair of long, skinny legs draped in a nightshirt swung over the side of a chaise longue.
"Grandpapa, don't get up." But Elysée was already hobbling across the room to Auguste's outstretched arms.
Elysée buried his white head in his grandson's chest. Auguste held his grandfather tightly; the answering embrace was not as strong as it had been even a few months ago when the old man had visited him in his cell. The fragility and weakness saddened Auguste.
Bare feet peeping from under another nightshirt pattered down a ladder from the second-story loft. Before he reached the bottom, Woodrow jumped and rushed to hug Auguste.
"I been staying here ever since we found out you were coming. So I could tell Miss Nancy right away when you got here."
Nancy. His heart raced as he remembered her in the witness chair defending him and standing up to Raoul's abuse. He badly wanted to see her, to hold her in his arms.
But could he allow himself to feel so much for Nancy, when he hoped to bring Redbird here?
That is looking too far down the trail. I may not live to see Redbird again.
Out there in the dark the enemy might be gathering even now.
"You still live with Miss Nancy, Woodrow?"
"She's adopted me." The boy stared down at Elysée's small Chinese rug. "I guess that makes me your son too."
Auguste understood what Woodrow meant. Auguste had taken Nancy as his wife according to Sauk custom, and Woodrow knew it. He saw Elysée's puzzled look, and knew that he might have difficulty explaining later. But he must not hesitate now. He squeezed Woodrow's bony shoulder.
"I'm proud."
"I'm proud of you, White Bear. I'm glad you came back. I'm off to Miss Nancy's soon as I get my britches on." The boy scampered back up the ladder.
"Guichard, go get Nicole and Frank," said Elysée as he drew Auguste across the room and gently pushed him into a chair.
"They'll be sleeping, Grandpapa," Auguste protested.
"They would be furious if we did not wake them," said Elysée, his falcon's face severe. "And it is safest that we meet late at night."
Auguste wondered, was any time safe? Did not the enemy have eyes and ears for the night?
Auguste threw off the riding coat Guichard had given him in Galena and sat down in a straight wooden chair by the chaise longue, close to the welcome warmth of the fire. He noticed a pistol and a rifle mounted on brackets over the mantel, with two powder horns hanging beside them. Guichard filled three small glasses with an inch of brandy apiece, drained one quickly and left the other two and the decanter on a small table within easy reach.
"I felt ten years younger when I saw Raoul's face turn purple when he came into court with his rogues and heard that you had been spirited away." Elysée wiped his wet cheeks with a blue kerchief. "I cry so easily. Iamgetting old."
"I am crying, too, Grandpapa."
Elysée turned a stern but still moist eye on him. "Enough crying, then. Tell me everything you have seen and done since the trial."
Auguste described his journey to Washington City and the meeting with Andrew Jackson.
Woodrow, dressed now for riding, lingered to listen as Auguste repeated Black Hawk's speech to Jackson. Then he solemnly shook hands with Auguste and left.
"Be careful out there," Auguste called after him.
Elysée said, "President Jackson, what sort of man is he?"
"His nickname, Old Hickory, is apt. He's hard, very hard."
Auguste told about his refusal of Jackson's offer of a post and being cut out of Black Hawk's touring party.
Elysée shook his head doubtfully. "To take a position in the government might have opened up an excellent career for you."
Auguste shook his head. "I knew what Jackson wanted to use me for. The Bear spirit would tear my heart out if I ever consented."
Elysée raised an eyebrow. "You still believe in such things—bear spirits and all that?"
Auguste thought of his resolve to succeed as a white man. Even so, the Bear spirit was as real as his grandfather.
"I don't just believe, Grandpapa. I know."
Elysée's reply was cut off when a weeping Nicole pushed the door open, followed by Frank and Guichard. Auguste held his aunt in his arms, rejoicing in the strength he felt in her ample body. Guichard brought more chairs from a rear room and set them close to the fire. They sat in a circle, their backs to the dark outside.
"All this going from house to house isn't safe," said Nicole. "Raoul is probably having all of us watched. He won't feel he really owns Victoire as long as Auguste is alive."
Frank said, "He might know that President Jackson sent you back from Washington City. We've been getting regular reports from back East about Chief Black Hawk's tour, and your name wasn't mentioned."
"Do you have any news about the rest of my people?" Auguste asked.
Nicole said, "The Sauk prisoners who walked through here are being held at Rock Island."
Auguste said, "I must go there and find Redbird and Eagle Feather."
Hearing that she was still in Illinois, he wanted more than ever to rescue her from hunger and fear and captivity, to bring her and Eagle Feather here to Victoire.
If I live to do that.
"Will you join the other Sauk in Ioway after you find your family?" Frank asked.
Auguste shook his head. "No, I must take my rightful place here. I can no longer live as a Sauk. If we are to live and prosper, we must live as the whites do, each man holding and tending his own land. I want to show my people how it can be done. I want to take Victoire back."
A silence filled the room. A log on the fire broke in two with a loud crack, spattering sparks on the screen.
Auguste looked at each of them in turn. There was worry in Elysée's eyes. Nicole's full face was pale with fear, and Frank looked bewildered. Guichard, standing against the wall, sipped brandy.
Frank said, "But Raoul—he'll try to kill you."
"I mean to let him try. I mean to challenge him."
"You can't." Nicole's voice was shrill. "He's got dozens of men behind him."
"He will have to fight me man to man. Raoul can hold his place only as long as his followers think he is the strongest and bravest. They don't respect him the way they used to. He made too many mistakes. And some of those mistakes have cost lives among his own men. If he tries to kill me without fighting me, he'll slip further in their eyes. If he loses the respect of his men, he loses everything."
Nicole said, "But you're going up against someone who has killed many times."
True. And he killed Iron Knife, the biggest and strongest brave in the British Band.
"I must do this," said Auguste. "I have never killed, but I know how to use weapons. I must do it for my mother. For all the Sauk that he has killed. And so that my father's will may be done. I believe the Bear spirit will help me."
He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. If he let these people persuade him, he might give up and run away.
Elysée groaned. "The Bear spirit again. Auguste, think how many men have gone into battle believing God and the saints and the angels would help them. And have died."
Auguste wished he could explain. Maybe for white men the spirits did not exist. But he knew that his visions were real. The Bear spirit was not just another part of his mind. It had a life of its own. It had left the marks of its claws on his body. It had left its paw print in the earth beside Pierre's body when it took his spirit away.
"If it was wrong for me to try to fight Raoul, Grandpapa, I would receive a warning."
Elysée shook his head sadly, disbelieving. Auguste was sad, too, thinking how much more there was to the world than Grandpapa would ever let himself know.
The Seth Thomas clock on the mantel over the fireplace chimed once, making them all jump. One o'clock in the morning. Auguste, at the end of a journey by railroad, steamboat, coach and horseback that had taken weeks, felt a bone-deep ache of exhaustion. But it was only bodily fatigue. Now that he was in Victor he was excited, and his mind was wide awake.
Frank put an ink-stained hand on Auguste's shoulder.
"Listen, Auguste. Even if you were to succeed in killing Raoul, you wouldn't get Victoire back."
"Why not?"
"Things have changed around here. People don't hold with the idea that every man should carry a gun and be a law unto himself. They've seen that only leads to a gang like Raoul and his rogues running things. They've decided they wanted the county run by those they've picked. And men like David Cooper and Tom Slattery came forward. Slattery is our new sheriff."
Elysée said, "TheVictor Visitorhas had much to do with this change."
Frank shrugged modestly and went on, "Right after your trial a group of men in Victor and on the farms hereabouts, mostly newcomers, formed an organization called the Regulators. They said it was a disgrace that the Army had to guard you during your trial and that you had to flee from the town when it was over. They're determined to keep order in Smith County, and Slattery has sworn them all in as deputies to make what they do legal. Things are tense now between the Regulators and Raoul's men, but the Regulators have more numbers and more spirit."
"Well then," said Auguste, exasperated, "why wouldn't these Regulators support me if I kill Raoul?"
"Because dueling is against the law. You'd stand trial again, for murder. And, by God, much as it might pain him, Cooper will hang you."
"And if you don't kill Raoul," said Nicole, "you'll die and he will still have Victoire."
Auguste felt as if he were struggling in a net of heavy ropes. His hands and heart ached for revenge on Raoul. Even if he did not get Victoire back.
But that was madness, to kill Raoul and be hanged for it.
"What can I do, then?" he asked in a low voice.
Nicole said, "David Cooper still has the papers that prove Pierre adopted you and left Victoire to you."
For just a moment Auguste felt his burden of fear grow lighter. He would fight Raoul in a courtroom. No one need die.
But no—he waved the idea away.
"They acquitted me of murder, but a jury of new settlers in Illinois is not likely to make an Indian the biggest landholder in the county."
Nicole said, "They would, because they would know that if they found for you and against Raoul, they would be finding for the whole family, not just you."
Auguste said, "Even if I could get a fair trial, I wouldn't live to hear the verdict."
"Yes, you would," said Frank. "Fear of the Regulators would stop Raoul from murdering you."
Auguste felt the ropy net tightening. Three moons ago his life had been in the hands of twelve white men. Now Frank was asking him to trust unknown white men again. And again, it seemed, he had no choice.
"Is there nothing else I can do?" The words came out as a cry of pain.
"You said you want to live as whites do," said Frank. "Then you have to start to think and act like a civilized white man. Seek your remedy in the law."
More than once, Auguste thought, he'd seen that civilized white men were as quick to flout the law as to seek a remedy in it. But, resigned, he slumped in his chair, his hands hanging down between his knees.
"I will follow your advice."
Nicole came over to him and stroked his hair. "We'll be beside you every moment, Auguste."
The menace of rope or bullet or knife seemed driven off a bit, as Guichard put another log on the fire and they began to talk about going to Vandalia, finding a lawyer—perhaps Thomas Ford again—and filing suit against Raoul. There was still the possibility—the likelihood—of failure. But at least he might come through alive.
The clock struck two.
A sharp banging on the door startled Auguste. Everyone fell silent, dreading what might be out there.
Guichard went to the door, opened it a crack, then pulled it wide.
Auguste saw a flash of blond hair under a bonnet and eyes of deepest blue. The sudden leap of his heart lifted him out of his chair. He barely heard the little serving table beside him topple over, spilling his brandy.
He ran to Nancy, holding out his arms.
The lenses on the desk stared accusingly up at Raoul.
Why do I keep taking them out and looking at them?
It was like picking at a scab, making it bleed over and over again, so that the wound never healed.
With a gentle hand he closed the silver case. He had long since cleaned and polished it, but he still remembered it as he had first seen it, streaked with the blood of the Indian woman he had just killed. He put the case in his desk drawer.
Armand Perrault, sitting across the desk from Raoul, grunted with disgust.
Ignoring him, Raoul picked up his whiskey glass and sipped from it, running the tip of his tongue over the ends of his mustache.
"Why don't you get rid of those damned spectacles?" Armand said as he refilled his glass from Raoul's jug.
When Armand picked up his glass it left a wet ring that would stain the polished maple surface. There were already many rings on the desk, even though it had been shipped out from Philadelphia only two months ago. They looked like owl's eyes, staring as the spectacles stared.
But Raoul couldn't bring himself to care about how his desklooked, just as he couldn't care enough to get started on rebuilding Victoire. He preferred to live at the trading post. He hadn't felt like doing anything, ever since Auguste's second escape from Victor. Next spring, he told himself, he'd get the work going.
And so he sat up late every night in his counting room with Armand and they drank and told each other the same stories about the war with Black Hawk's band. There were men to drink with in the trading post taproom, but he didn't care for most of them. Armand had been with him longer than anybody. Raoul might not like him much, but he was used to him.
Armand had grudgingly accepted Raoul's explanation that he hadn't read his copy of the will carefully before sticking it in the fire. He thanked Raoul for the belated two hundred dollars and dismissed Pierre's generosity as an attempted bribe from beyond the grave.
Raoul stared at his stained desk. The drawer was still open, the silver case still visible. "They were my brother's spectacles."
"I know that. Why do you keep them? You hated your brother."
Raoul brought the flat of his hand heavily down on the desk. "Shut up! You know nothing about it."
How do I feel about Pierre? Do I still love him in a way? Is that why I keep his spectacles?
Unwilling suddenly to consign the silver case to his desk, he dropped it into his jacket pocket. Armand probably wanted him to throw it away so he could retrieve the case and sell it for the silver.
Armand said, "Your brother put the horns on me. And his Injun friends killed my wife. Mon Dieu, how I wanted to see that bastard son of his hang for that!"
Raoul was tired of hearing Armand go on about dead Marchette, to whom he'd given nothing but blows and contempt when she was alive. Going to bed with Pierre was the only good thing that ever happened to that poor woman. But he said nothing; after all, he himself had cared little enough for Clarissa when she was alive.
"You'll get a chance to kill him yet," said Raoul. "He'll be back this way."
It was now nearly a week since the sergeant at Fort Crawford in Raoul's pay passed the word that Andrew Jackson had sent the mongrel back West. To think, that vermin meeting the President!
If Auguste traveled as fast as the news, he must be nearly here. Raoul's informant said that Auguste was supposed to be sent with a military escort to the new Sauk reservation in Ioway. Raoul was sure Auguste would come to Victor instead.
When Auguste came back to Victor, he would go at once to Nancy Hale's cabin, or send for her. Surely she had lied in court about what she and Auguste were to each other. The boys Raoul had sent to watch her cabin would let him know of Auguste's arrival.
Armand nodded vigorously. "May le Bon Dieu grant me the chance to kill him. But what makes you so sure he will come here?"
"Because he knows that he can prove Pierre left Victoire to him. Cooper has those papers, and Cooper helped him escape, so he has Cooper on his side."
Armand said, "Two pieces of paper. Easy enough to make them disappear."
"How in hell am I going to get them away from Cooper? Him and his Regulators."
Glowering at Raoul, Armand leaned back in his chair, making it creak. He folded his hands across the big belly that stretched his homespun shirt.
"Kill Cooper and there will be no more Regulators."
How I wish I could.
Pouring himself another drink, Raoul said, "Armand, you're damn near as stupid as an Indian."
Armand's eyes narrowed and for a moment Raoul saw a flash of hatred that reminded him of the way the overseer used to look at Pierre.
"Have a care how you talk to me, mon colonel," Armand said in a voice that sounded like millstones grinding together, "I am your one friend. Otto Wegner and Eli Greenglove turned on you, Hodge Hode is dead, Levi Pope has joined the Regulators."
It's true. I have no other friends but Armand. I have no family. What's happened to me?
"Damn it, itisplain stupid to talk about fighting the Regulators, Armand. Kill Cooper and we'd have a countywide war on our hands."
"I believe we could frighten the Regulators into backing down, mon colonel—ifweshowed some courage."
That's a jab at me.
Whiskey and anger almost made Raoul lash out again at Armand, but he felt a sudden fear that Armand would turn on him and he would be all alone.
Raoul brooded for a time, then finally spoke.
"Wait till I get the lead mine opened up next spring. We'll go up to Galena, you and I, and we'll recruit the roughest, meanest miners we can find. And we'll make it plain to them that they'll have two jobs—to dig for lead and to fight Regulators. When we've got enough of them down here, we'll take on Cooper and his crowd in the next election. I'll spread whiskey and money around and our boys will beat up anybody who says he won't vote our way. Smith County will belong to us again, Armand."
He heard hurried footsteps echoing on the split-log floor of the fort's main room. Someone rapped on his office door. Like a swimmer coming up from the bottom of a lake after a dive, Raoul rose up out of his comfortable whiskey haze.
"Who's there?" he growled.
Josiah Hode, a skinny, red-haired youth in dark calico shirt and workman's trousers, a big hunting knife at his waist, pushed the door open. Hodge's orphaned son.
This is what my Andy and Phil would have grown to look like.The thought hurt Raoul because Andy and Phil were dead and because he had never really loved them.
"What is it, Josiah?"
"Someone rode up to Miz Hale's door and banged on it. I snuck right up to the fence. When they came out I saw it was that Woodrow kid that lives with her. And she got out her own horse and rode toward town with him."
"Did you follow them?"
"Long enough to see that they went up to old Mr. de Marion's place."
"He'sthere!" Raoul said. He felt as if he were out hunting on a frosty morning and had just sighted a buck with spreading antlers. He clenched his fist and brought it down on his desk, hard. He opened the drawer again, took out a small bag of coins and slammed the drawer shut.
He counted out nine Spanish dollars. "Josiah, you divide these between the three of you for keeping good watch." He dropped atenth piece of eight into the boy's cupped hands. "That's for you, for bringing me the good news."
Josiah grinned, all teeth. "Thanks a heap, Mr. de Marion."
"Armand, I want about twenty men. Go round them up. Have them meet me at the trading post gate."
"Très bon, mon colonel."
Raoul thought a moment. He had planned to hang Auguste, but they couldn't leave a body around for the Regulators to find.
"We'll take him out to the lead mine and finish him there. I know parts of that mine where nobody'll ever find anything."
"Can I come, Mr. de Marion?" Josiah asked. The glow of admiration in his eyes warmed Raoul.
Raoul gave the boy a grin. "Sure, Josiah. Bring your dad's rifle. I'll show you how Smith County takes care of its Indian problem."
"Do Nicole and Grandpapa know about us?" Auguste asked Nancy as they sat side by side on the split-rail fence Guichard had built around Elysée's garden.
"I told Nicole," she said. "I was afraid she'd condemn me, but I had to confide in someone. She was very sweet to me about it, not a hint of reproach."
"Nicole understands." His voice sounded choked. He didn't know how he knew Nicole that well—from glances, from hints in her voice perhaps—but he was sure that her own desires were as large as she was. And her generosity larger still. She would feel nothing but goodwill toward another woman's longing for a man.
Nancy put her hand on Auguste's, and his breath quickened. Her face seemed to pull his eyes, and he saw, in the light of the waxing moon, that she was more beautiful tonight than he had ever seen her. Her cheeks were rounder now: he hadn't fully realized how haggard she had been as a captive of the Sauk.
We all looked like buzzards' meals. But even then I loved to look at her.
Right now he felt the blood throbbing in his body. He wanted to pick her up and carry her into the woods beyond the house and be upon her. As any healthy Sauk husband and wife would greet each other after a long time apart. He was so aware of his hunger for Nancy and hers for him that he could hardly think of anythingelse. Their need lit up the little garden with a glow brighter than the moon's.
But what of Redbird? Even though she accepted Nancy as truly his wife, as much as herself, somehow it did not seem right for him to love Nancy now. It had been right when they were living with the British Band; here in Victor it was not right.
"I knew you would come back," Nancy said, sensing his desire but not his hesitancy, bringing her lips so close to his he could almost taste them.
He inched away from her, so as not to be utterly overcome by her nearness.
He decided to talk of other things. He told her of the plan he had come here with, to challenge Raoul. He told her how Frank had persuaded him to try to retake Victoire with the law's help.
"The Turtle has said that I must be guardian of the land and see to it that no pale eyes prospers by stealing from the Sauk," he said. "If I can take Victoire back from Raoul, my people will have a place to come to in the land that was once theirs."
"You mean for the tribe to come back and live on the estate?"
"No, they could never come back to Illinois as a tribe. But families could come and live here for a while—they could send their children here—they could learn our ways. And the wealth of the estate could help them, wherever they might be."
"Will you bring Redbird and Eagle Feather here?" she asked, squeezing his hand.
Does she want me to say I won't? No, she cares for them too. We were a family.
He said, "Yes, if I can get Victoire away from Raoul, I will bring them here."
He saw her eyes close and knew that he was hurting her, and that deepened his own pain still more.
She let go his hand and twisted her fingers together in her lap. "Of course Redbird is first in your heart. But how can she live here with you? Where her baby was torn out of her arms and killed by a mob of white people."
"I've asked myself that many times. I will have to hear what Redbird says."
He remembered what Sun Woman had said when Pierre asked her to come with him to Victoire.I could not look into pale eyesfaces all day long. My heart would dry up.And surely Redbird had more reason to hate the sight of white faces than Sun Woman had seven years ago.
Could he himself live here? He talked about retaking Victoire, about living as a white man, but he recalled the heaps of dead he had seen on that blood-soaked island off the Bad Axe River. Could he live among the people who had done that?
Nancy said, "Would you still want to live at Victoire if Redbird said she would not come with you?"
He saw Redbird's small face, her slanting eyes, the fringe of black hair that fell over her forehead. He felt her slender arms around him as they had held him so many nights in their wickiup. He saw the love and fear in Eagle Feather's eyes when they parted so that he could take Nancy and Woodrow to safety. The pain of being away from them almost made him want to weep.
"I don't know the answer to that. The trail I follow is dark. I must go one step at a time."
The chill night air carried a sound to his ears. Off in the distance, on the bluff south of this hill, a man's low voice spoke a few words, then another voice answered. He heard a boot crunch on gravel. A door slam.
The hair on the back of his neck lifted.
He raised his head, and his ears felt as if they were opening wider, to take in everything that came to him. The noises were all faint; no pale eyes would even have noticed them.
"What is it?" said Nancy.
The sounds seemed to come from the town. Who would be up so long after midnight?
"Some men talking, a long way off." He listened for the space of a few breaths. "I don't hear anything now."
Victor, he decided, was making him overly fearful.
Nancy said, "If Redbird does come to live with you, what will become of you and me?" She took his hand in both of hers, stroking his fingers. "I love you, Auguste. Now more than ever. Before, my life depended on you. Now I know that I love you of my own free will."
"And I love you, Nancy."
"But you love Redbird too. More than me."
"Not more than you. In another way. Sometimes I seem to be two people."
"Among the Sauk you could have both me and Redbird as wives. And when I was a captive, and I thought I might die at any time without ever having loved you, then I accepted your way. But if Redbird lived here, you and I would have to be together in secret. And I couldn't live my whole life that way."
He had known it would hurt like this. This was the very reason he had tried again and again to renounce Nancy's love.
"I understand," he said, and the words seared his throat.
But now I would never give up a moment I spent with her, even to escape this pain.
He ached to put his arms around Nancy and to feel her holding him. But he made himself sit rigid, fingers digging into his thighs.
Nancy spoke, and he could hear the iron of grief in her voice. "If Redbird comes here as your wife—I'll leave here. Maybe we'll go back East. Woodrow and I."
She stopped abruptly, too choked by tears to speak. The fence rail they were sitting on shook with her sobs.
Something broke inside Auguste, and he felt his eyes burn as the wetness trickled down his cheeks. He slid from the fence and held out his arms to her.
"To see you again and hear you say you'll leave me forever," he said. "It hurts too much."
She came into his arms, pressing her wet face against his. Her lips twisted against his, burning, devouring. Her arms slid around him, her hands stroking his neck. He could feel her pulling at him as he held her and her legs gave way.
He knew they were going to have each other and could not help themselves.
He pressed his hand on her breast, loving its softness, feeling her risen nipple push against his palm through silk and calico.
Footsteps crackled in the shrubbery at the bottom of the hill.
He froze, all his senses straining.
The hot blood in his veins turned in an instant to icy water.
"Auguste, for God's sake," she whispered.
"Someone's coming," he said. He felt her shiver against him.
He heard many men. They were trying to move quietly, filtering up the hill through the woods. But few pale eyes could walk unheard among shrubs and trees and piles of fallen leaves, especially at night.
Along with fear, he felt a sudden anger at himself that made himwant to pound his fist on his head. He'd heard the voices before, farther off, in the village. He should have listened. He'd have known who and what they were.
His ears told him the approaching men had formed a semicircle, slowly closing as they climbed toward Elysée's cottage. His heart fluttered in his rib cage, skipping beats, then pounding hard.
Nancy seized his hand.
"God protect us, Auguste!" she whispered. "I hear them too. Your uncle must have found out that you're here. You've got to get away."
"Into the house. Hurry."
In the front room of Elysée's cottage Frank and Nicole were sitting by the embers of the fire. The others had gone to sleep. Nancy flew into Nicole's arms.
"We've got to get word to the Regulators," said Frank when Auguste told him about the men coming up the hill. He shook Woodrow, who had been napping on the chaise longue.
"Go by way of the ravine on the other side of this hill," Frank told the boy. "Tell Judge Cooper Raoul and his men are coming to kill Auguste." He turned worried eyes on Auguste. "Perhaps you'd better go with Woodrow. You'd be safe at Cooper's."
"No," said Auguste. "If I run for it and they catch me, they'll surely kill me. I'm going to do what I came to do. When Raoul gets here, I will challenge him." His heart pounded so hard that his voice shook.
"Oh, no, Auguste!" Nancy cried.
Woodrow stood hesitating by the door, listening.
"They're almost here."
"Go!" Frank snapped at him. Woodrow ran out.
"Go carefully, Woodrow," Nancy called after him.
"Challenging Raoul is just—just madness," said Frank. He went to the mantel and reached for Elysée's pistol.
"Frank, you can't!" Nicole cried.
"What choice do we have?" he said. He took one of the powder horns down and sat to load and prime the pistol.
Auguste said, "Frank, there are too many of them. If you try to fight them you'll only fire that pistol once, and then you'll be dead."
Frank said, "In a few minutes Cooper and the Regulators will be here. All we have to do is hold Raoul and his men off a bit."
"Please," Auguste said. "Let me go out and meet Raoul alone."
Elysée said, "Absolutely not." He stood in his long nightshirt in the doorway of his bedroom. He gestured to Guichard, who had followed him out.
"Load my rifle, Guichard."
"Grandpapa, no!" Auguste cried. He wanted to throw his arms around the old man and protect him.
Elysée shrugged. "Perhaps as Frank says, we can face them down without shooting. You stay out of sight, Auguste. They cannot know for certain that you are here."
"I will not let this happen," Auguste said. "I'll leave now. I'll follow Woodrow." He strode to the door.
They could be out there.
If they are, then I can face Raoul as I first planned.
He yanked the door open and saw Raoul grinning at him, his face yellow in the candlelight from the cottage.
And beyond Raoul, filling the clearing, a crowd of men with rifles.
Raoul couldn't see the mongrel's face. The light spilling out of Elysée's house left Auguste in shadow. But he did see the split right ear, partly hidden by Auguste's long black hair. He hefted the cap-and-ball pistol held loosely in his right hand. This time there would be no missing.
Now. Point the pistol and pull the trigger. He isn't even armed.
But behind Auguste, Raoul saw Frank Hopkins with a pistol and Papa with a rifle. If he shot Auguste, he'd have no time to reload. They'd have the drop on him. And even if they didn't shoot back, they'd be witnesses against him.
Looking past Frank he saw Nicole and Nancy Hale glaring at him, wide-eyed. At the sight of Nancy his jaw muscles clenched and his hand tightened on the pistol grip.
How could she turn away from me and take up again with that redskin bastard?
"Come on out, mongrel," he said to Auguste. "Maybe a jury found you not guilty, but we know you're guilty as hell. You sent that Sauk war party here." He raised his voice. "And you, Papa, Frank—you're fools to defend him. His Indians were trying to kill you too."
Auguste said, "Raoul, you were the cause of the Sauk coming to Victor. You are a liar and a fool and a coward. And a thief and a murderer."
Auguste stepped forward and slapped Raoul's face.
The blow came too suddenly for Raoul to react. It wasn't even hard enough to hurt much. It was purely a gesture of contempt.
Then Raoul's rage came. It flared up like a forest fire. He brought up the pistol. Auguste's unprotected chest was less than a foot away.
But Auguste spoke again before Raoul could fire. "Will you shoot an unarmed man now, Raoul? Go ahead, prove yourself a coward. When you took Victoire away from me, you wouldn't fight me. At Old Man's Creek—de Marion's Run—I stood before you with my hands empty, and then you tried to shoot me. You don't have the sand in you to face me fairly."
Raoul sensed that Auguste's words were aimed not at him, but at the men behind him. He felt angry, trapped.
Shoot, dammit! Shut him up.
No, it's too late. All these men heard what he said.
"You're afraid to fight me man to man. I challenged you the day you drove me away from Victoire, and you backed down. I challenge you again, Raoul."
An answer sprang into Raoul's mind. "I accept. Let the weapons be your neck and a rope."
But even as he spoke he had a sinking, uneasy feeling.
He did not hear any of his men laughing.
Armand said, "What the hell, Raoul. You've killed hundreds of Indians, some of them a lot bigger than this one. Give him his duel."
For a moment Raoul felt like turning his pistol on Armand. The overseer was paying him back, he realized, for the contempt he'd endured.
"I'm ready to meet you now or any time, mongrel. Let it be tonight. But where there will be no witnesses to charge the winner with murder."
Auguste said, "I would be a fool to trust you and your men."
"You have to," said Raoul. "I'm not giving you any choice. The men will see to it that it's a fair fight. That's what they want." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Come with us, or I'll shoot you down on this doorstep."
Frank Hopkins, pistol pointing at Raoul, crowded into the doorway beside Auguste.
The black O of the muzzle pointed at him chilled Raoul. He'd heard that Frank had fired on the Indians attacking the trading post. Seemed that day had changed him. Now he was a man like any other, taking up the gun like any other.
Frank said, "Auguste is not going with you. There will be no duel. Get away from this house now."
Seeing Frank's foolish defiance in the face of over twenty armed men, Raoul almost laughed.
But that pistol in Frank's hand could end his life. He couldn't shoot Auguste while Frank held it on him.
Raoul swung the barrel of his own pistol to cover Frank's chest.
"Get back inside, Frank," he said, putting a steel edge into it.
Instead, with a sudden movement that almost made Raoul squeeze the trigger, Frank came forward, stepping in front of Auguste.
Raoul saw another movement in the doorway, and then he was staring into his father's glittering eyes. Elysée's rifle, long barrel trembling only slightly, was leveled at him.
Raoul decided the best attack was to laugh at them. "Look at the mongrel's protectors. A weakling who would never carry a pistol and a lame old man in his nightshirt."
He heard a few snickers among the men behind him and felt encouraged.
But, he thought with fury, he was still trapped. His pistol was aimed at Frank, but Frank's pistol and his father's rifle were both pointed at him. If he shot Frank, would Elysée shoot him?
With the palm of his hand he pushed back the hammer of his cap-and-ball pistol, the muzzle still aimed square at Frank's chest.
"Papa, Frank, both of you get out of the way, or Frank is a dead man."
But Raoul felt as if the bottom was dropping out of his stomach as he looked at the two men. Neither Elysée nor Frank replied. Raoul saw resolution in Frank's light blue eyes. The man who had never wanted to kill was prepared to die.
I have to shoot first.
He heard Nicole scream as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Frank and Elysée were pushed apart. Raoul was looking into Auguste's eyes, blazing with a dark fire.
Kill the mongrel now, and you're done with him forever.
He squeezed the trigger hard. The hammer fell, and the pistol boomed and blossomed red fire and white smoke.
The pistol and the rifle pointed at Raoul both went off, hurling a blinding bitter cloud back into his face.
He stood unhurt.
Elysée and Frank had fired, but by pushing unexpectedly between them Auguste had spoiled their aim.
The smoke cleared. Raoul saw a black spot on the left side of Auguste's white shirt. In an instant it was a spreading scarlet stain.
Auguste's eyes were shut. He fell back against Nicole, his knees buckled and he sagged to the ground. Nicole, her skirts billowing, threw her arms around Auguste and eased him down.
Raoul felt a surge of triumph.
At last! I killed the sonofabitch!
But below the triumph, like chill black water under thin ice, lay fear of what might happen now. His knees trembled.
Raoul saw Nancy Hale staring at him, her eyes full of hate.
Well, if I couldn't have you, he won't either.
"It was you led me to him, Nancy," he said, grinning as he saw her mouth twist in anguish. "When you came here, we knew he was here."
"I pray that you burn in Hell for all eternity, Raoul de Marion!"
"Pretty talk for a minister's daughter," he laughed.
"Mon colonel!" Armand called. "We hear men running this way. Must be Regulators. Let us ambush them. We have time to find hiding places."
"No," said Raoul. "We'd have to silence this bunch."
He gestured at Frank, Elysée, Guichard and Nicole, who were lifting Auguste's body into the house.
Will I truly have to stand trial for murder? Me? I never have before.
He stared into the empty doorway. Had he really finished Auguste? He'd better go in there and see. But there were three armed men in there, and if he had killed Auguste, nothing could stop them from trying to kill him.
In fact, it might be a good idea to get away from here. With his family all fired up and the Regulators on the way, a very good idea.
He heard Nancy scream again and again. Nicole suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"You are not my brother anymore, Raoul. I'll bear witness against you and so will Papa and Frank." She broke down and sobbed, then caught herself. "You'll hang for this murder, and then, just like Nancy says, you'll burn in Hell."
She says it is murder. Then the mongrel must be dead for certain.
Raoul felt a vast relief. At last he had lifted from his shoulders the burden that had crushed them ever since Pierre brought the savage boy out of the forest.
But the relief lasted only for a moment. The fear came back. His legs were still shaking. He wanted to run for it at once, to get a horse and ride out of Smith County and keep going.
It wasn't just that he had killed a man. This killing was not like other killings. This was not some nameless Indian or some river rat knifed in a taproom brawl. This was his brother's son. The people in this house had loved Auguste.
He remembered, and it was like something breathing cold on his neck, the fear he'd felt looking into Auguste's eyes at Fort Crawford. Medicine man. Was there some way Auguste could hurt him? Could Auguste, even in death, get at him?
Raoul shook himself, shook off the haunting, frightening thoughts like a dog shaking off water.
He had never meant to shoot Auguste in front of witnesses. Now the Regulators were coming and they'd find the body in the house, and him with the smoke practically still twisting up from his pistol barrel. And he wasn't ready to fight them. The trial wouldn't last even as long as Auguste's had.
He had to go to ground somewhere until he could collect more men.
The lead mine.
Even if they came there looking for him, he knew the mine so much better than anyone in Smith County that they'd never find him. Only two or three men who had worked the mine before the Indian war still lived in Victor, and they would not help the Regulators. In fact, he was sure he was the only one who knew about some parts of the mine.
"Speak to us, mon colonel!" Armand demanded. "Do we fight?"
"No," said Raoul. "They outnumber us."
He pulled Armand to the edge of the clearing around Elysée's little house.
"I'm going to make a run. I can be out of the county by daybreak. I'll come back in a couple of weeks, maybe a month. By that time things will quiet down, and I'll bring with me the men we need to run these Regulators out."
Let them think he was going to ride straight out of the county. Let the Regulators chase him along the Checagou road, and the Galena road and the Fort Armstrong road. Meanwhile, he'd hide out in the mine till they quit looking for him. Then he'd leave the county. But it would be best if no one at all knew exactly what he had planned.
"What willwedo, mon colonel?" There was accusation in Armand's eyes. He probably felt Raoul was deserting them. What the hell did Armand expect him to do? He was doing the best he could for them; if he led them into a fight he'd only get them killed.
Like he'd gotten men killed at de Marion's Run and at the Bad Axe.
"For now, scatter. Deny you had any part in this. Wait for me to come back."
"It will not go easy for us, mon colonel," Armand growled.
"I'll be back," Raoul said. "And when I am, it will be just like old times in Victor."
He plunged into the trees behind Elysée's house. While the Regulators charged up the hill, he'd have no trouble finding his way back to the trading post by moonlight.
Alone, moving quickly through woods he'd known since boyhood, he felt suddenly lighthearted. He might be on the run, but he'd done the most important thing. He'd killed Auguste. He had a winter to get through, maybe a hard winter. But by next spring things would be back the way they were in the days when he'd been happiest. Before he'd ever heard that Pierre had a son. When he'd ruled like a king in Smith County.
To Nancy, young Dr. Surrey looked like a brainless clothier's mannequin in his black frock coat and ruffled white shirt. Though Woodrow had routed him out of bed at nearly three in the morning and he had spent over an hour working on Auguste, he didn't seem tired. If he wasn't tired, what in God's name had he been doing? Now he was leaving, and Auguste was still unconscious.
A helplessness in Surrey's face, round and blank as an unbaked pie crust, turned Nancy's grief and fear into fury. She wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him until he promised that he could and would save Auguste.
"The bullet pierced his left lung," Surrey said. "But it was a shoot-through, luckily, so I didn't have to dig in there and pull it out. Many a doctor has killed a pistol-shot man that way."
Nancy took a step toward the doctor. He was her only hope, and she would not let him escape.
"Aside from not killing him, Doctor, what have you done for him?"
"I packed the wound with cotton, front and back, to stop the bleeding. I put dressings on. I told Mrs. Hopkins how to change the cotton and dressings. And now he is in the hands of the Almighty."
Earthmaker, Auguste would say.
"I hope the Almighty guidedyourhand, Doctor."
"Knowing your father was a man of the Lord, I'm sure your prayers for Auguste will be heard. He's got to stay where he is, in his grandfather's bed, and fight for his life. I expect he'll take afever, maybe pneumonia. The punctured lung is of no use to him. He'll draw breath with the other one. He'll be delirious, and you've got to get some food into him—soup's the best, because he'll probably be able to swallow that. His body will fight while his mind sleeps. I'll be back to see him every day."
Through tight lips she said, "Tell me the truth, Doctor. Do you think he'll get better?"
"One man in four survives such a wound, Miss Hale."
Nancy's shoulders slumped. This man could do nothing more.
"Good night, then, Dr. Surrey."
Back in the bedroom, Nancy could hear the crackling that was Auguste's breathing, as blood bubbled in his pierced lung. His face beeswax-yellow in the candlelight, he lay under the canopy of Elysée's four-poster, covered to his chest by a quilt. His arms lay stretched out on either side, his fingers slightly curled.
His breathing is so noisy, at least we'll know when he stops.
Nancy felt as if she herself were being swept away on a black tide of sorrow.
Elysée, sitting by the bed staring into his grandson's face, looked almost as near death as Auguste. Guichard stood behind him, a clawlike hand perched on his master's shoulder.
Nicole, her eyes round and dark with suffering, asked, "What can we do for him?"
Nancy said, "The doctor says it's up to Auguste and God."
Elysée grunted. "Where was God when this happened?"
If Auguste were conscious, Nancy thought, he would be asking Earthmaker for help. In the camps of the British Band Nancy had never seen Auguste give up on a sick or wounded person. He had applied his remedies, gone into his trance, danced and chanted to summon the aid of his spirit helpers, wrestled with the hurt till either the man's soul left his body or the healing was well begun. At first his practices had seemed foolish and savage to her. But Auguste had done his work with such devotion that she came, watching him, to love him all the more. And, out of love, to respect what he did.
But he's not the only one who practices that calling.
Maybe that was what he needed now. One of his own people to call on the spirits for him.
If only Auguste were awake, he could tell her what to do.
Redbird had helped Auguste with his work.
She remembered the last time she had seen Redbird, small, emaciated, holding the broken body of Floating Lily in her arms. Redbird was probably more in need of help than able to give it.
And yet, Nancy had seen that she had a marvelous knowledge of healing. Besides, she had told Nancy that she wanted to be a shaman herself, like White Bear and Owl Carver.
It would be better to go to Redbird than sit here and watch Auguste die.
"I'm going to his people," Nancy said. "To find someone I think can help him."
"No Sauk will be willing to come here," said Frank. "Not after what these people did to them."
"This one will," said Nancy.
A heavy, cold rain drummed on the leather top of Nancy's buggy. Driven by a sergeant, the little carriage splashed into the Sauk camp that huddled beside the wooden walls of Fort Armstrong. A dozen peaked army tents, their grayish-white canvas sagging under the rain in a muddy field, were all Nancy could see. There were no people in sight. "I don't know how you're going to find anybody here, ma'am," said the sergeant. Nancy judged him to be a few years older than she was. His name was Benson. He had tomato-red cheeks and a blond mustache so thick that it completely hid his mouth.
Dark faces started to appear at the tent flaps. She wanted to weep as she saw the misery of the women and children who slowly came out, some of them holding blankets over their heads, to stand in the mud and stare at her.
Shouldn't I be glad to see the Sauk brought so low?
Didn't she owe it to her father, Nancy asked herself, to rejoice in the fate of the people who had murdered him? And what about the horrid things they'd done to her? So proud they'd been, the yellow-and-red-streaked faces, the feathers in their hair, the day Wolf Paw led them to burn and kill at Victor. Now they huddled, what was left of them, in the rain in a muddy field in tattered army tents.
But she felt no pleasure seeing the Sauk in final defeat. Through Auguste, they had become her people.
She felt suddenly uncomfortable sitting in the shelter of the buggy's top, staring down at the sodden figures in the rain. If they could stand in the rain, she decided, she could too. She jumped down.
"Ma'am!" the sergeant called, sounding alarmed. But he made no move to follow.
In an instant her bonnet, her shawl, her dress, were all sopping. But she didn't care, because the people she was looking at were soaked too. She looked for familiar faces. The people standing before her seemed made of mud. From head to foot they were a dull brown color.
"It is Yellow Hair!" She understood the Sauk words and looked around to see who had spoken, but all she saw were black eyes wide with sudden fear. Of course they all remembered her as the pale eyes woman who had been kidnapped and nearly killed, and who had escaped. They must think she had come to accuse and punish.
Yes, now that they knew her, they were backing away, ducking into their tents.
"No—wait—" Nancy cried. She wanted to tell them not to be afraid, but didn't know how. Redbird was the only one she could talk to. Andfearwas not a word Redbird had taught her.
A man was standing in front of her. His eyes were empty, his face thin and dirty. He seemed familiar. He held out his hands. He seemed to be saying, "Here I am. Take me."
All at once Nancy recognized Wolf Paw.
His hair had grown out, hanging down in short black strands all around his head. But at last she recognized that noble face that—much though she'd hated him at first—had always reminded her of the engravings she'd seen of Roman statues.
She understood what he was trying to tell her. If she'd come to find the murderer of her father, the man who had kidnapped her, here he was. He was at her mercy.
He seemed to have lost everything else, she thought, but not his courage.
"Is that Injun threatening you, ma'am?" called the sergeant from the shelter of the buggy.
"Not at all," she said, and smiled at Wolf Paw. She felt heartsick to see how the splendid warrior had declined into a shabby spectre.
She tried to tell Wolf Paw, in the mixture of Sauk, English and gesture that she had used with Redbird, that she had not come here to avenge herself on him, that all she wanted was to find Redbird.
But then Redbird was standing before her.
Like Wolf Paw, she had changed so much that for a moment Nancy wasn't sure thiswasRedbird. She was as thin as a fence rail, and those colorful things Nancy remembered her wearing, the feathers and beads, the dyed quills, the painted figures on her dress, all were gone. She clutched a coarse brown blanket around her shoulders. Her head was bare. Water dripped from the fringe of hair across her forehead and poured from her braids. She wore, not the doeskin clothing Nancy remembered, but a torn gray cotton dress that was too big for her and dirty around the bottom edge. Looking down, Nancy saw that Redbird's feet were bare, her toes sinking into the mud.
Nancy felt warm tears mingling with the cold rain on her face as she saw Redbird smiling at her.
"Redbird, I am glad to see my sister," Nancy said in their special language. "Where is your wickiup?"
Redbird spoke to Wolf Paw in Sauk words too low and rapid for Nancy to follow. He grunted assent and trudged through the mud toward a distant tent. Watching him, Nancy felt pity at his rounded shoulders and old man's shuffle.
Redbird beckoned Nancy to follow her to the tent she'd come from.
"Where you going, ma'am?" the sergeant called.
"I'll be all right," Nancy called over her shoulder, raising her voice over the drumming of the rain. "This is the woman I came to find."
She could see the young soldier shaking his head. Why would a young white woman go into the filthy, disease-ridden tents of these Indians?
May the Lord open his eyes and heart.
At first the inside of the tent seemed black as a moonless night to Nancy, and the smell of damp, unwashed bodies made her stomach churn. She took Redbird's hand and held it for reassurance. Not too tightly; the bones felt delicate.
Redbird explained that they had no dry wood for a fire. The long knives had promised to bring them some, but they hadn't yet. The air was as chill in the tent as it was outside, and Nancy heard women and children coughing.
They sat in silence for a time, Sauk fashion. Nancy's eyes adjustedto the dim light filtering through the canvas till she could see Redbird's face. She saw Eagle Feather looking at her out of the shadows with huge blue eyes, a little skeleton whose covering of skin looked like stretched brown leather. Hurting inside, she greeted him with a pat on the arm. If only she could do for him what she had done for Woodrow. Now she could see four other women and two little girls huddled together near the rear.
Nancy broke the silence. "Redbird, White Bear needs you."
Wincing in pain, Redbird narrowed her slanting eyes. She asked what had happened to White Bear.
Redbird, Nancy learned, had heard no news of Auguste since the day he left Black Hawk's camp to take Woodrow and Nancy back to the whites. Auguste had told Nancy that he had tried to get word to Redbird; now she silently damned the soldiers for not bothering to pass the messages on. No doubt they thought it not worth the trouble.
When Nancy told Redbird that she had left White Bear four days ago, unconscious with a bullet wound in his chest, she saw the gleam of tears on Redbird's cheeks.
"The pale eyes doctor says he can do no more," Nancy finished. "You are the only one who can help him now. You know the Sauk way of healing. You told me you wanted to be a shaman."
No, Redbird said quietly, shewasa shaman. The declaration startled Nancy.
"You told me the men wouldn't let you be one."
In their private language, Redbird said that for a long time she had not understood what it meant to be a shaman. She had thought that a shaman must be made by another shaman. But now she knew that if people came to a person for help, that person was a shaman. And people were coming to her.
"I have come to you," Nancy said. "You can help White Bear."
Redbird gave a helpless grunt that said she could not. The soldiers would not let her leave.
Nancy reached into her handbag and drew out a folded paper. "I have spoken with General Winfield Scott. This says that you may come with me."